


Yer Stupid Valentine

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fireplaces, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Thunderstorms, Valentine's Day Fluff, the lost winter, unconventional romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9719369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: Rick and Daryl are out scavenging supplies when they discover it's Valentine's Day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between S2 & 3.

After several hours of wading through a light drizzle, the skies opened and graced Rick and Daryl with a torrential downpour. With Daryl’s poncho soaked through, the heavy fabric gaining ten pounds, they hightailed it toward a cabin they’d spotted on the way out. Their camp sat at the end of a winding road a few miles down, but the cold must’ve gotten to Rick, his soaked curls sticking to his forehead, little rivulets spiraling down his cheeks.

He drew his crossbow as they ascended the front steps. Rick rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, but just because no one and nothing seemed to stir didn’t mean they’d have it easy. So, with a deep breath and a long-perfected exchange of nods and hand signals, the two moved inside, sliding into sync with more lethal precision than the thunderheads bellowing above.

Only after every inch of the three-room cabin had been searched did they let out a collective sigh of relief and start in on the reason they’d decided to go out on this mess of a day in the first place: the search for food. They’d almost turned back earlier, but the thought of Carl’s sad face contorted with the pangs of hunger propelled them both forward.

They’d found a stockpile of medical supplies in one of the last houses they searched, which would come in handy when the baby arrived, but other than a few measly cans of pork and beans, food eluded them.

“Hey, Daryl?” Rick called from the kitchen. 

Daryl tore his eyes away from the inviting sight of the fireplace to find Rick standing with his arms outstretched in front of a cabinet.

“We’ve hit the jackpot.”

A variety of canned meats, fruits, and vegetables had Daryl’s stomach gurgling at the thought of something other than possum. They packed up every last can plus a clean pot from the stove, both grinning like mad at their score. They’d get a hero’s welcome when they returned, not that either would care for it, but a quick look outside told them they’d have to wait a little while longer.

“Gonna start a fire,” Daryl said, drawn like a damn moth to the thought of warmth.

“Yeah, and maybe we should crack open one a’ those raviolis.”

Daryl grunted in agreement and had a fire crackling within minutes. He stripped a can from its label and wedged the sucker in between two burning logs while Rick gave the place a more thorough search, his police training showing in the methodical way he moved. Daryl didn’t have to watch him to know that. 

Things with Rick had always felt natural. He had a sixth sense about the man, the sway of his hips, the width of his gait, knew where he was at all times, and could even picture his face by the slope of his shoulders. Others might call that a crush, but Dixons didn’t do those. They took what they wanted, not pined like a pussy for someone with a piece of metal twisted around their finger.

Rick took off his shirt and threw it over the back of a chair by the fireplace to dry. Daryl had already wrung out and hung up his poncho, and before their raviolis had a chance to heat through, they’d positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder as they sat barefoot in front of a roaring fire.

Daryl had no sense of romance other than the bullshit he’d seen on TV from time to time, but he imagined it looked a little something like that.

A few minutes later, the can started to steam and bubble over. Daryl removed it with a corner of his wet poncho and sat it between them. Rick had snagged them some spoons from the kitchen, and they chowed down, savoring the first taste of pre Apocalypse food they’d had in weeks.

With food in their bellies and the sound of the rain beginning to let up, Rick gave the cabin one last search. He chuckled when he returned to the fire, and Daryl turned to look at him only to get a pair of socks tossed his way.

“What’s so funny?” Daryl said, feeling his face morph into a scowl.

Rick’s grin looked part Cheshire Cat, part lunatic. “Jus’ found one a’ those watches with the dates on it.”

“So?”

Rick passed him the watch in question, and Daryl looked down at the date, February 14th. “Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah, so there’s ya some socks. Sorry it ain’t chocolate, but it’s the least I could do on such short notice.”

Daryl scoffed. “S’at mean I’m yer bitch now?”

“Nah, course not... but for the first time in a long time, I find myself without a Valentine on this most ridiculous of holidays.”

The air in the room suddenly felt charged, like they stood a lightning strike away from them both going up in flames. But if Rick was saying what Daryl thought he was, he’d have to be a helluva lot clearer, because like most things these days, this could very well be fatal if either of them misstepped.

“What about Lori?”

Daryl watched the flood of emotion flicker across Rick's face. Things hadn’t been right between Rick and Lori for a while, possibly even before things went to hell, but Daryl had more sense than to get in the middle of that shitshow. Well, he thought he did, but Rick looked so fucking gorgeous in the light of the fire, eyes wide and sure, lips plump and shiny, and don’t get him started on the damp corkscrew curls sitting messy on his head.

“How ‘bout ya jus’ be my Valentine, and then we’ll see how it goes from there?” Rick asked. Then he leaned in, and Daryl knew he’d have to meet him halfway. Rick wouldn’t touch him, wouldn’t risk what they had without Daryl giving him the go ahead.

So, in true Dixon fashion, he decided to take what he wanted.

He felt Rick’s breath stutter against his chin when he slid his nose along Rick’s, their eyes falling shut right before their lips touched for the first time. Daryl pulled back almost immediately, his skin crawling with the tenderness in Rick’s gaze. No one had ever looked at him like that before, with reverence and respect, and something he had no words to describe, but he could get used to it.

“Yeah, I’ll be yer stupid Valentine,” Daryl rasped, his chest burning like he’d inhaled bad whiskey.

Then he did something he’d wanted to do for ages. He grabbed Rick by the curls and smashed their lips together, a bruising, passionate kiss much more inline with the Dixon Way. And he didn’t let up, licking and biting and probably growling, until they’d both drowned and resurrected the other ten times over.

It wasn’t the worse way Daryl had ever spent February 14th, but next year, after they’d found a place to call their own, to settle, to thrive in, maybe they’d get a chance to do it right.


End file.
